


Stick&Poke

by notzenyatta



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Mild Blood, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notzenyatta/pseuds/notzenyatta
Summary: Black eyes. Midnight eyes, like the dusky contents of the dip in the plastic spoon he holds.





	Stick&Poke

**Author's Note:**

> me? project onto a fictional character? never.  
>  also this fic is meant to be a friendship fic more than a romantic fic

 

 

_"And I won't ever let you down if you don't ever let me go_

_No, you won't give me space so I have some time to grow_

_And I'll live savage and free, reckless and wild_

_I don't need anybody, I'm a forest child_

_I'll trace my casting circles in the mud_

_Something's boiling in my blood."_

_-Poison, Stick and Poke_

 

Zenyatta twitches at the frist prick- pushing into his skin in a way thats numbing and at the same time digs up some sort of topical soreness. 

 

This was a bad idea, maybe. But Genji’s already asking him if he’s okay, slime-green bangs shadowing his eyes.

 

Black eyes. Midnight eyes, like the dusky contents of the dip in the plastic spoon he holds. 

 

Inky eyes that focus, sharply on the invisible point of a tattoo needle puncturing his shoulder again and again and again.

 

The design is a delicate flower that curves up his arm, blossoming into lavender, or maybe foxglove.

 

He just wants something to remember them by. Their friends, Hana’s basement, Jamison’s own ink-coated hands pressing pigment into numbers and roses on his ankle. 

 

From his position lying down- a pillow under his neck and the tangle’d nest of blankets of their sleepover party under his back- Genji’s face is harder to see. But his acidic hair almost brushes the arm that he’s laboring attention on, His slender hands reassuringly keeping Zenyatta’s less slender arm in place. Zenyatta wonders if he can grow his hair out.

 

Theres no reason for him to continue to shave it off, and it now sticks a half-inch out of his skull, dark brown and stiff. If he let it grow, maybe he could dye it like Genji’s. Maybe stick himself full of pigment and color (more than he already is) to try to stifle some sort of natural process of emotion.

 

For Genji its his family, and for Zenyatta its something else. 

 

Some sort of deep restlessness that drives him away from the tidy scent of incense and towards friends who cover themselves with regrettable marks and make their hair brighter than the sun and love him more fiercely than a secluded life among some sort of history deeper than his soulish itches might have.

 

The design takes 40 minutes to stab into his skin and another 40 after the ink wipes away leaving barley anything. 

 

Whats eventually left in his skin- raised slightly like a black scab- is a design thats less slender and more cartoonish than the flowers Genji had carefully drawn on his arm and Zenyatta had fallen in love with- which he regrets. 

 

But he doesn’t think he regrets falling asleep on the floor next to his best friend, running fingers through his barely-there hair, and remembering the way that Genji unexpectedly says “You’re doing really well, Zen” When his skin refuses to bleed or swell at the quick insertion of a midnight-coated needle, over and over again. 

 

_"And I'll live savage and free, reckless and wild_

_I don't need anybody, I'm a forest child_

_I'll trace my casting circles in the mud_

_Something's boiling in my blood."_

_-Poison, Stick and Poke_

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't about my first stick&poke given to me by someone I wish was my best friend in a dark basement sorry its so short I have feelings. Find me on tumblr @notzenyatta for genyatta week summer!


End file.
